Where Once Was Gold
by Black Hawk
Summary: The events of Sateda left Ronon to face the pain of his past. Teyla attempts to help him heal, discovering much about herself and the Runner in the process.
1. I Prologue: Firefly Light

Disclaimer: I do not own_ Stargate Atlantis _or its original characters. I do not own the song "Fields of Gold" nor the book _Cold Mountain_. They are the property of their owners, and I am making no money off of this.

_Author's Note_: I'm trying to develop style, so please feel free to let me know what's working and what isn't. Feed me constructive criticism and I will love you. ;o)

You can also read this story with music and pictures at my site: (usual http world wide web tag that this site won't let me post!) angelfire . com/planet/whereoncewasgold/WhereOnceWasGold.html without the space in-between "angelfire" and "com," of course.

**I. Prologue: Firefly Light**

* * *

"And then she thought that you went on living one day after another, and in time you were somebody else, your previous self only like a close relative, a sister or brother, with whom you shared a past. But a different person, a separate life." – Charles Frazier, _Cold Mountain_ (p. 422).

* * *

The smooth metal beneath his cheek hummed with the warmth of the jumper's engines. His fingers gained sensation next, chilled in contrast to the floor. Something was bumping against his neck, attempting to tease him onto his side. He blinked. The blurred, muted colors were unmoving and he felt no threat from their static, mosaic shades of grey. Exhaustion tugged at his mind once more before it was interrupted by an onslaught of fire from what felt like everywhere at once. He would have gasped but his ribs grated against each other and the floor, limiting his air. Images of heat and fear flashed through his mind: the clawed-hand of a Wraith reaching for him, the jagged itch of tweezers probing for shrapnel in his leg, his throat burning in a howl. His heart leapt with the remembrance that he was once again hunted, that the chilling ice of death waited for his wrong move so it could creep into his chest. 

He could not lie still. He could not rest – not now. He had to get off the ground and keep moving. He had to hide and fight. Run. He had to run.

Something pressed against his neck again, coaxing him to roll over. Muffled voices wafted overhead and the tickling of hair slithered across the bridge of his nose. The sensation brought to mind the hoary hair of the Wraith, the tugging at his neck a clawed hand. His cry for solitude came out as a half-strangled gasp and his attempt to rise as a slip of the palm against the floor.

A warm hand fell on his bare shoulder and a rolling, accented voice undulated before him with the blurry visage of a man. He blinked again and piercing blue eyes became clear, their compassion identifying themselves as belonging to Dr. Beckett. Confusion swam in his mind and he tried to sit up again but another pair of warm hands stilled him. A melodic female voice danced on the fringes of his senses and he fought to focus on it above the din of the blood rushing past his ears. He blinked again, his head lolling helplessly as he attempted to view the owner of the voice, his heart begging for whatever light present to catch upon the curls of Melena's golden tresses. The warm hand upon his forehead was soothingly familiar, and though the face was still blurred, he felt his muscles begin to unknot from the affection he felt from the woman.

Carson glanced to Teyla as Ronon ceased his weak resistance. Her brows were furrowed as she studied the Satedan's lost eyes, sharing a concerned expression with the doctor.

"That's it, lad, it's alright. It's just us. Everything's going to be fine."

Ronon blinked lethargically, his fingernails lightly dragging against the metal of the jumper's floor as pain threatened to steal what little breath he had. Teyla shook her head, removing her hand from the Satedan's forehead. "Why can he not focus?"

Carson glanced at her as he hastily teased the knots at the seam of the Satedan's breastplate. "The medicine's starting to take effect. He'll be out any minute now, and more the better. The sooner we can get him out of this bloody thing," he gave the armor a yank and Ronon's head lolled with it, "the sooner we can get that device out of him."

Teyla unsheathed the knife on her calf and handed the hilt to Carson who took it with an appreciative smile, immediately cutting the leather lacing of the chest armor. When she looked back to Ronon she smiled for his unfocused gaze was on her. "You are safe now, Ronon." She rested her hand on his forehead again, running her thumb across his crown. He swallowed as he looked at her, as if wishing to speak. She took his hand in hers, careful of the scraped knuckles, hoping that her touch would communicate what her words undoubtedly couldn't since the anesthetic was taking hold of her friend.

His lips moved a little and she tilted her head for his eyes were still latched onto hers in a need to communicate. On an exhaled breath he whispered "Melena?" Her mouth opened slightly in surprise and she slowly withdrew her hand from his forehead, her mind arrested in its vicious struggle to understand who or what he'd meant by the question. He continued to lazily watch her through eyes of glazed green jade, consciousness flickering behind them like the flame of a candle in the breeze.

Carson let the blade drop to the side as he finished cutting the bindings and lifted the breastplate off the Satedan, breaking Teyla's eye contact with him. Before she could form an answer to Ronon's strange utterance, Carson was soliciting her help in removing the Satedan's vest. Her fingers nimbly worked at the brass buttons as she glanced to Beckett who was removing supplies from his medical kit. "Dr. Beckett, did you not just hear-"  
"Aye, I did, love, but I haven't the slightest idea what to make of it, either." He set out a makeshift supply tray. "And neither does he – he's been sedated... in fact..." he leaned forward to peer at Ronon's face. The Satedan's eyes had slipped shut and Carson listened to his heart rate. "He's out now."

She undid the last button. "Good." She tried not to look away when she parted the leather. The ugly bruising and swelling of his chest left her to wonder just how much that armor protected. Carson seemed to share a similar thought for he sighed and muttered "Good God."

Teyla purposely kept her attention on the Satedan's arm as she removed it from the clothing. Having watched him as the victim of a Wraith's cruelty was painful enough. She didn't need to see the visual reminder of it. And yet she was met with it again the moment she helped Carson roll his patient onto his front, exposing the back of his neck where they were to operate. The pink scars crisscrossed each other in a grotesque design, the thinnest lines being the most recent, left from Carson's delicate scalpel.

Dr. Beckett adjusted the light and magnifying glasses on his head, disinfecting the area with a gloved hand before leaning over with a scalpel in hand. Teyla remained where Carson had instructed her, on her knees with her hands lightly resting on the Satedan's shoulder blades, parting his hair. When Beckett pressed the blade to Ronon's skin she closed her eyes and looked away.

Ronon's voice echoed in her mind and she attempted to escape thoughts of what was going on beside her by focusing on the possibilities of what Ronon could have meant by his barely-audible question. The way his eyes, though unfocused, had remained on her told her that what he'd said was more than a random, unintelligible mumbling as Beckett would have her believe. The firefly light she had seen in his eyes haunted her.

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	2. II Chilling Fire

_Author's Note_: Thank you kindly for the reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy. :o) Don't forget to check out my site (address in the first chapter) if you feel so inclined!

**II. Chilling Fire**

Beckett was communicating with Dr. Weir on the bridge of the Daedalus, leaving Sheppard, Teyla and McKay to watch over Ronon. The Canadian was having a whispered argument with the American over their countries' better qualities. Teyla arched a brow and attempted to block out their hissing tones as she kept her eyes on the Satedan. The anesthesia from the surgery was beginning to wear off and Carson had asked her to contact him as soon as Ronon was awake again. The doctor wanted to assess the severity of the warrior's concussion before giving him more sedatives.

"Oh please, don't even go there," McKay whisper-snapped at Sheppard.

"I'm serious. As a kid I never even knew that Canada had an army."

"Well that's hardly surprising given your education system."

"Those are mighty big words for a man _employed_ by the US Air Force."

"I am only on the payroll. You can't blame me for working a system run by idiots when I see it."

Sheppard started to raise his voice. "Those 'idiots' are putting food in your belly." He squirmed a little in his chair when Teyla shot him a warning look. He dropped his voice to a whisper again. "Canada's more like America than you'll admit."

"Well, we _are_ neighbors."

Sheppard was silent for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest; his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. He shot Rodney a sideways look. "We should just buy Canada."

McKay scoffed. "_Buy_ Canada?"

Teyla grit her teeth at his raised voice.

"Well, it'd be nicer than invading."

"Why would you invade?"

"We're practically the same anyway. And you could keep Quebec – we don't want that. Anyone who doesn't want to be American can just move there."

"Oh I don't _believe_ this!"

Rodney's outburst made the Satedan stir and the other two men fell silent. Teyla watched as Ronon swallowed and flexed his hand that rested upon the mattress then stilled, remaining on his side. She waited until his breathing evened out again before she arched a brow at the two sheepish men. Sheppard had leaned forward in his chair and now eased back with an apologetic look. He then casually smacked McKay.

"I am certain that both of your nations have their merits," she quietly admonished.

"Sorry," McKay mumbled.

One of Ronon's legs twitched like a rabbit's and he took a deep breath. Sheppard rose and stood at the side of the bed opposite of where Teyla sat, sharing a glance with her. Ronon tilted his head a little, his eyes slitting open.

Sheppard smiled. "Hey, buddy."

Teyla reached for his hand and tried to catch his eye with hers, but he still seemed unfocused and disoriented. "Ronon?"

He shifted his weight, starting to roll over onto his back to be more comfortable. But they had been warned by Beckett to make sure he remained on his side and off the wound in his back, so she reached out a hand to his shoulder, stilling the movement.

Ronon felt like he was at sea. The blood rushing past his ears sounded like the surf and he could have sworn the entire world was swaying. He tried to move to better see but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Sheppard furrowed his brows at the lethargic movements of the Satedan. It was so unnatural to see him prone. "Just stay still, Ronon. Beckett'll be here any minute."

Muffled voices echoed and Ronon struggled to place them. He tried to roll onto his back again, but this time the hand on his shoulder was joined by a hasty one to his back. The latter pressed against the flesh near his wound, eliciting a chilling fire that dug like lightning into the deep between his shoulder blades. He cried out and stiffened, his head suddenly throbbing nauseatingly.

Sheppard yanked his hand away from Ronon's back at the anguished cry, his heart skipping a beat at the chilling sound of pain. The wide-eyed look Teyla gave him seared into his heart and the guilt of it would not leave him be.

Ronon's whole body seemed to cringe and he let out a whimper as his hand flexed at the sheets on the mattress, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the bruising pain in-between his shoulder blades spread it's wings across his back, coiling like iron around his ribs and arresting his breathing.

Pain. Ronon was showing pain. The thought made Sheppard's stomach churn. His insides felt like they flopped over when he realized that he'd caused the pain in his effort to help.

McKay was already radioing Beckett, shouting at the Scot to "get your ass down here _now_."

Sheppard's apology escaped as a broken whisper.

Teyla rested her hand against the Runner's cheek, brushing a stray lock away, repeatedly telling him that it was alright.

Sheppard's throat tightened at the sight of his solid companion, his brother, reduced to such vulnerability and torment. His guilt and grief were dimmed by a sudden blossom of hatred of the Wraith. They had done this to Ronon, _again_. They had brought his brother to his knees. He ground his molars, a fist clenched as he breathed through the anger. McKay watched him warily from the foot of the bed, knowing better than to say anything when he had that steely look in his eye; a look of vengeful, unforgiving prowess.

Beckett bustled back into the ship's infirmary as Ronon let out a choked sob, his muscles spasming in corded torrents of relentless, nauseating hurt. Teyla's eyes searched Ronon's face as a tear slipped down his high cheekbone. She ran her thumb over his temple, at a loss of what to say, knowing by his lack of focus that he wasn't conscious of her presence anyway.

"What happened?" Beckett glanced among the teammates. Teyla squeezed past the bed so Beckett could take her place and check over his patient.

Sheppard straightened. "He woke up and tried to roll over, so Teyla and I stopped him. I think I accidentally pressed against his stitches."

Beckett gave him a slightly disapproving look, cursing under his breath about a lack of a proper hospital. He quickly assessed Ronon's concussion, shining a penlight into his eyes and watching his pupils contract. Ronon squeezed his eyes shut when then light was shone in them, which seemed to please Beckett, as did the small flicker of recognition that lit them when he opened his eyes again to look at the doctor. Carson gave him a small smile and touched his forehead which was beaded with pain-sweat. "Hey there lad." He frowned as he listened to Ronon's heart with his stethoscope then glanced back to his face. "You just rest up there. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep now, alright?"

Ronon's only response was a child-like turn of the head and an attempt to burrow under his pillow.

Beckett sighed and straightened, measuring out a dose of sedative as he spoke. "I don't think he understands me. His heart rate's up a bit but I'm nearly positive that's from the pain." He injected the contents of the syringe into the IV bag.

McKay watched, wincing at the sight of the needle. "What about his head?"

"It appears to be normal for someone who..."  
"Who never had much going on up there in the first place?" Rodney quipped before the little man in his head approved of it. He realized what he'd said a little too late.

Carson and Sheppard looked as if they were ready to try shock therapy on him.

"No - for someone who has endured as much recent trauma as he has, Rodney," Carson finished.

McKay squeaked out an "Oh, yes, of course..." before turning away at Teyla's rare look of annoyance. "I'm just uh..." he waved his hand towards the door. "Gonna go get a cup of coffee."

Sheppard kept his eyes narrowed at the Canadian as he passed him and left.

"Thank God he's no longer in the infirmary." Carson rubbed his eyes. "I've had it about up to here with that man." He raised a hand to his chin.

Sheppard smirked. "Now you know how I feel. Some days it's a wonder that I don't shoot him."

Teyla had resumed her seat by Ronon's bed and had taken his hand in hers. His eyes had slipped shut again and the heart monitor beeped more slowly as he fell into a deep sleep. Carson and Sheppard paused in their conversation to observe the signs of slumber, both feeling a wave of relief at the relaxed frame of the Satedan. Sheppard watched his chest expand and contract for a moment before quietly speaking. "Doc, is he gonna be alright?"

Teyla looked to Beckett, also interested in his answer.

Beckett rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I sure as bloody hope so. He has no severe head trauma which is a blessing after that beating he took. We're not out of the woods yet, but I'd say he'd be on his feet again in a week. Hell, probably a few days knowing the stubborn cub."

Sheppard chuckled a little and squeezed the other man's shoulder in thanks. "He's just a damn big cub."

Carson arched a brow, recalling trying to get the Satedan onto a gurney. "Aye." He looked to Teyla who had a small smile on her face as she listened to the two Earth men speak. Her smile strengthened as she locked eyes with Beckett, then she cast her gaze back down to her fallen teammate, her smile significantly dimming as she ran her thumb across the back of his hand.

Beckett checked Ronon's stitches before looking between Teyla and Sheppard. "You both are exhausted. You should get some rest."

Sheppard nodded, his relief at Ronon's prognosis being closely followed by heavy tiredness. "Yeah... I can't argue with that."

Beckett patted him on the back and headed over to the infirmary desk to start on his pile of paperwork.

Sheppard looked to Teyla. "You turnin' in?"

She blinked sleepily but shook her head no, eventually looking back up at him. "Not yet. I wish to remain a little longer."

Sheppard nodded then stepped up to the bedside, watching Ronon sleep for a moment before lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Sweet dreams, buddy." He smiled at Teyla before he left and she returned the gesture before letting her eyes settle on Ronon's split lip once more.

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	3. III A Gift to Us All

_Author's note_: You'll have to laugh along with me at some of the language in this chapter. I wrote it while reading Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_.

**III. A Gift to Us All**

She argued with herself whenever her muscles began to ache, attempting to coax herself to her bed or at least to the commissary for a meal. Yet one look at him and she could not go. The steady beep of the heart monitor assured her of his stable condition and the stillness of his form in repose upon the infirmary bed comforted her with his peaceful slumber. Yet ever since they reached Atlantis, she could not let go of his hand. The faint pulse of his thumb kept her rooted to her chair, as if the gentle bump of blood was nurturing her.

She stretched her neck, watching his face, her eyes lingering on a bruised cheekbone. She didn't know why she was so compelled to keep him company, for as he slept he would not notice her absence. She figured it had something to do with the fact that she'd remained with him thus far, and that abandoning him now would render all her patience and silent support futile. A part of her felt he was her charge, and yet in the same breath she would gladly acknowledge his dependence on no one.

The light she'd seen in his unfocused eyes in the jumper, she'd decided, was hope. He had looked to her with hope, which was a comforting thought. But the affection twined with the hope was what lingered in her mind and fluttered her doubting heart. She could think of nothing that ever previously existed between them to merit such warmth from him, least of all in such a disoriented state. Then again, maybe that was it. Maybe Carson was right in that Ronon had not been aware of what was occurring and what he was experiencing, and therefore his seemingly misplaced affection could be explained away with the lunacy of medication.

Why did that thought sadden her?

She sat up straighter when she realized the truth of the matter. The look in his eyes, no matter where or whence it came, was welcome to her. She enjoyed the fleeting sensation and the warmth it spread through her. To explain it away as a mere random delusional happening robbed her of any girlish hope that the light in his eyes may have stemmed from something deeper; something truthful.

She knew the answer was entwined with the word he had uttered to her. At the time she'd thought it a question but in retrospect and the tired fog of her memory she was no longer certain. She surprised herself when her cheeks colored as she tried to imagine a conversation in the very near future when she might be able to skillfully weave in mention of what he had said to her and to probe his recollections on the matter.

Suddenly her grandmother's voice filled her head, reminding her that it was none of her business and that she should leave the poor boy alone. Such secrets that spill forth unguarded in moments of delirium are not to be trifled with... and yet she had to know. An inexplicably hopeful fabric of her heart longed for the affection to have been meant for her. She let that daydream dance lazily in her tired mind until Dr. Beckett poked his head around the corner to note the Satedan's condition.

He cocked his head with a concerned line between his brows. "You need rest, love."

Teyla offered him a small smile then returned her gaze to the slow rise and fall of Ronon's chest. "I will be fine."

Carson sighed and tugged a chair next to hers before seating himself with the Satedan's medical chart in hand. He glanced over the numbers he'd recorded then to the monitors and scribbled down a few notes. As he wrote, he stole a glance at Teyla's hand cupped over the scratched hand of Ronon. His azure eyes flicked to her face. She was gazing at Ronon's peaceful visage and Carson bit his lower lip before he spoke quietly, hooking the chart back onto the end of the bed. "Why are you here, Teyla?"

The question drew her eyebrows together and turned her gaze to his. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the rest of your teammates have listened to me and taken some rest after this whole mess. Why have you not gone for at least a bit of shut-eye? We've been back for nearly eight hours now."

Her eyes traced the thin lines of his face for a moment before she looked away, down to the hand she held in hers. Her lips parted as she gently slipped her hand away from the Satedan's, resting it in her lap.

Carson watched the movement with keen attention, looking to her eyes. She was studying her hands which now cradled one another. He rested a hand on her knee. "Are you alright, love?"

She offered him a poised smile. "Of course." The continued concern in his gaze stripped her of her lie and she let her shoulders slump, looking back to Ronon's face. "I am concerned for him."

Carson withdrew his hand from her knee. "Aye, as are we all. But he's on the mend. At the moment, only time and medicine will help him heal." She nodded slowly, distractedly, and Carson knew he hadn't gotten through to her yet. "He'd want you to take care of yourself, Teyla."

She looked back to him then with a small, self-conscious smile as she inhaled. "I know. However I cannot bring myself to leave his side."

He cocked his head. "Why do you suppose that is?"

She shrugged. "Just a feeling that I have... that he should not wake up alone."

Carson's gaze languidly traveled over the form of the seemingly-peaceful Satedan. The chirp of the heart monitor filled the silence between them. Carson rubbed his eyes then looked to Ronon's abandoned, abraded hand. The puckered red of the determined flesh fighting to heal slithered into his consciousness as remembrance of shielded pain kept at bay for the sake of survival. He extended his arm and delicately enfolded the Satedan's fingers with his own. Their still forms were cool against the palm of his hand. He knew Teyla watched him as he studied his hand upon Ronon's, noting the contrast in form and color between the two. At length he spoke. "You are a good friend, Teyla."

She smiled at him, her hands now nestled in-between her knees. "As are you, Carson."

"No." He looked back up to her, meeting her smiling gaze. "That's not what I mean. You see people, Teyla. And you are an incredibly strong individual." The smile was slowly fading from her lips. "And you're right."

Her brows twitched slightly together and a corner of her mouth lifted in a confused smirk. "I am?"

"Aye." He released the Satedan's hand. "He does need you. He needs you to be here for him." They looked at each other for a moment before Teyla glanced away to Ronon's face. "He's so good at his lies that I don't think he knows if they're lies anymore. He's shut down inside, like the walking dead. Or at least he was before he was here for a while. You all managed to sing to a bit of him that would still listen. And now he's stronger. But it's still there."

She tossed her bangs out of her eyes as she looked at Carson's pensively unfocused eyes. "Still there?"

Carson blinked and locked eyes with her. "The pain."

She lifted her chin in acknowledgement and a small nod before looking back to Ronon's rising and falling chest. Her voice was pitched with lament. "It is."

Carson followed her gaze and was quiet for the better space of a minute. "But none of us can help him with it. The ghosts of our pasts must be confronted by each of us in turn. I hate the Wraith for what they've done to him, but I cannot change it. Just as you cannot change what happened to him on Sateda." He looked back to her elegant profile. "And it's not your fault, Teyla."

She didn't look to him. "I know it is not my fault... and yet I still feel some measure of guilt."

Carson nodded. "It's a wretched thing – watching those we love suffer."

Teyla glanced up to the ceiling with a deep, calming breath, chasing away her own demons. "Indeed it is."

"...Made all the more difficult by damn-stubborn lads who insist that they're fine, even as they bleed out." He chuckled a little as he looked to Ronon's face, earning a small crack of a smile from her. He sobered as he haltingly released Ronon's hand, Teyla's cocked head watching the jarring movements of the Scot. "Which is why he needs us. Why he needs you, Teyla." He looked back up to her. "You've always managed to see through his lies and glimpse the shadow that haunts him. I can only treat physical injuries. But through your steadfast friendship and support, I know he's begun to heal. From what I saw, the poor lad's been through hell and back in a manner of hours. It must have felt like all of his nightmares were coming true. I can't imagine the horror... but I know that your strength is a gift to him." He took her hand in his and laid it upon Ronon's, squeezing both gently with his. "You heal him in your own quiet way, love, and I admire you so very greatly for that. So I'll leave you to do what you think is best, and won't come around again asking you to bugger off." He smirked and her eyes smiled back.

He rose and paused at the foot of the bed, looking back to her. "You're a gift to us all, Teyla."

She couldn't hold his gaze and glanced away, her cheeks coloring. "You are very kind."

He smiled. "It's the truth, love." He disappeared around the fabric corner, leaving her with her coloring cheeks to dwell over all he had just said.

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	4. IV A Startled Deer

_Author's note:_Thank you kindly for all of the reviews! I hope that I continue to entertain you lovely people. :o) Don't forget to check out this story's site if you are so inclined (address in the first chapter). Blessings upon you all!

**IV. A Startled Deer**

He could hear a steady beeping noise. The constant chirp that fought through his hazy hearing was foggily familiar. Where had he heard that sound before? It wasn't a bird. It wasn't water dripping. _It's not a natural sound at all_, he slowly realized. Then why was it so familiar?

He sighed as he shifted and the scent around him only added to the tantalizing dance of things he felt he should know, as did the cool feel of the fabric brushing against his bare forearms. The answer hit him so suddenly that he tried to open his eyes. The Infirmary. That's where he'd awoken to that steady beep before – when he'd been shot by the woman inhabiting Weir.

The white of the bedding was too bright so he let his eyes slip shut again with a cracked groan.

Teyla sat up straight upon hearing the noise, having been lightly dozing with her back against the wall beside the bed. She watched the muscles in Ronon's throat ripple as he swallowed and tilted his chin in a sign of wakefulness. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she moved her free hand to rest on top of the hand that held Ronon's. "Ronon?"

Remembering was proving too tiring so he'd let his memory drift to the point that he was nearly asleep again. As such, it took his name a few heartbeats to travel from his ears to his mind. When it registered, he cracked his eyes open again, this time willing them to fight past the urge to water and squint against the white around him. That voice was familiar...

"Ronon?" She leaned over a bit to better see his face, her hair brushing over her shoulders.

_Teyla_. The melodic voice belonged to Teyla. That meant that whatever had happened, he was back in Atlantis, home and safe. Teyla would have made sure of that, for he often felt her eyes on his back. He moved his head a little to try and find her but the small action made his vision swim and he felt as if he were suddenly spiraling into an abyss. He breathed shallowly to steady himself, and in that pause, felt her warm thumb running along the ticklish back of his hand. Shifting his shoulders, he blinked his eyes open a little more and looked up to find a blurry Athosian smiling down at him. His return smile came as naturally as breathing.

Teyla couldn't help but grin so widely that she felt on the point of laughter when he smiled sleepily, almost bashfully, back at her. He blinked slowly and she realized that she was staring so she averted her gaze to their clasped hands. Yet upon feeling his eyes still on her, she looked back to meet his gaze. "You are safe, Ronon."

He wanted to say, "I know," but his mouth was too dry.

"Dr. Beckett successfully removed the tracking device and we have all returned home safe and sound."

_Tracking device? But they'd taken that out a year ago... what was she talking about?_

Her smile began to fade when she noted the confusion that obscured his eyes. "Do you not remember?"

He managed to shake his head no, having only the increasing awareness of pain and soreness to tell him what he'd just been through.

"Well." She gave his hand a squeeze, warming it. "There'll be time enough for remembering later."

_Remember? Remember_. The light haloing her head highlighted the strawberry red of her hair. Melena had hair that sometimes looked that color. He had long wondered at its many shaded tresses, browns and golds and reds all blending so seamlessly into curls that were his undoing. It had been her curls that first caught his eye when they bounced as she laughed with a friend.

* * *

He'd been in the waiting room of the hospital with a handful of other eighteen and nineteen-year-old soldiers. The young recruits were called in one by one for a health inspection and as he waited, he watched Melena on her break, chatting with the administrative secretary who had witty brown eyes and a ready smile. Her name was Arya. 

From the desk, Arya could see that he was peeking at her friend whenever he could. Arya arched a brow at him in acknowledgment and he was sure his rigid form and wide eyes resembled a startled deer. Melena stole a casual glance at him over her shoulder after her friend told her that he was staring and she'd hastily spun her head back around to Arya, her curls bouncing as the two laughed. He sunk a little lower in his seat, his cheeks coloring as the two giggled at his expense, yet still, he could not stop looking her way.

After a few moments Arya gave him a "what do you want?" expression, compounded by Melena looking over her shoulder at him again with a furrowed brow. He subconsciously chewed the inside of his lip as a bashful smile alighted on his face when her eyes met his. Melena had started to smile back then checked herself, clearing her throat as she looked away but stealing another glance at him over her shoulder.

A friend elbowed him with a smirk as the bored, heavyset nurse called his name in the waiting room for the third time. "Ronon Mato Hota Dex?"

He rose, clenching his jaw at the sniggers from his fellow soldiers.

The nurse blinked with bovine interest. "This way, please, Mr. Dex."

He followed her into the examination room, too embarrassed to steal another glance at the pretty nurse standing at the desk.

* * *

"Here." Teyla was offering him a straw and he forced his mind back to the present, taking a few slow swallows, the dryness of his throat burning with the action. Once the cooling water soothed his throat he reached to help hold the glass, making slurping sounds through the straw as he drank thirstily, making Teyla laugh. "I am glad you are recovering," she said as he leaned back against the pillows, the glass empty. "I shall ask Dr. Beckett if you may have some more water." She rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled as she rose. He watched her as far as he could without moving his head. There was something about her smile that made him feel safe, just as Melena's smile had always made him feel like he was home. 

**_Please review!_**

**_Note: _**"Mato hota" is Lakota for "brown bear." I always saw Ronon as a bit of a bear in that if he's charging and you shoot him, all it does is get him more anrgy rather than stopping him.


	5. V Wilted Bouquet

_Author's note_: Thanks, as always, for your support! huge hugs to all! I think most of you will enjoy the music I have on my site (link in the first chapter) for this chapter, but if you read there, please remember to let me know what you think somehow! Either here or the guestbook, I suppose.

**V. Wilted Bouquet**

He'd returned to the hospital two weeks after he'd first seen her. Melena's shift was already finished the first time he came but had yet to start the second. So he'd waited for four hours with a small bouquet of wilting flowers he'd bought from a street vendor. He'd passed the vendor every day on his way to and from training and for the past week since he'd gathered his courage enough to return to speak with Melena, eyeing the blossoms as he passed, wondering which ones would most please the nurse. In the end he'd had to choose a bouquet that he could afford, which was the cheapest for sale.

Around fifteen minutes to the time Melena was scheduled to start her shift his palms began to sweat. At five minutes to he was fighting the urge to hide in the bathroom or run out of the building all together. His stomach was filled with frightening dragonflies and felt heavy, weighting him to his seat in the waiting room. He'd chosen the same chair he'd been seated in when he first saw her.

When she came through the door he forgot to breathe. She walked up to the administration desk and pulled out a chart from behind it, signing in with a few playful words to the dark woman behind the desk. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she read over a notice, smiled at the woman, then disappeared down the hall. It all happened so fast to Ronon that he hadn't even left his seat, much less swallowed enough to speak with her. His lips parted in surprise and a sigh of his own idiocy as double doors swung shut behind her.

The dark-skinned nurse who'd been watching him ever since he walked through the door gave him a funny look, as if to say, "wasn't that what you were waiting for?"

The look was enough to shake his senses and he rose, following Melena only to pause outside of the double doors that were marked "hospital staff only." He was tempted to turn back until he reflected on how much of his day of leave he'd spent waiting to see her. He set his jaw in determination and glanced over either shoulder before slipping through the doors, freezing when he found himself at the end of a long corridor lined with identical-looking doors. He bit the inside of his cheek and wondered just how much trouble he'd get into if caught here. His planned defense was to play the part of a wandering mental patient.

He took a few tentative steps forward, relieved when he found most of the doors to be supply closets void of people. If most of these were closets, then where had the nurse gone? He looked through the window of one of the closet doors and did a double-take when he spied drawers labeled after body parts. He took a few steps down the hallway until curiosity got the better of him and he doubled back, slipping inside the closet to investigate.

He stared at the list of drawers before him. _Left hands. Right eyes. Big toes and teeth_. He stuck his tongue out with a small sound of disgust yet cracked open a drawer of toes anyway. He blinked in surprise when the scent of new plastic wafted out and he opened the drawer further. They were all prosthetic limbs. He fished out a toe and held it to the light, examining the soft vinyl exterior and wondering how many people in the world went around with fake toes like this that he never noticed before. His grandfather's toes had always frightened him, but his mother had explained their yellowed appearance as fungus. If his grandpa had wanted a replacement toe, could he color one like this to match the yellow of his other toes so that it'd blend in?

"Young man," an authoritative voice halted his playful musings and he turned around to face a scowling doctor. "This area is for medical staff only."

Ronon stood with a big toe in one hand and his wilting flowers in another, at a loss for words, remembering his defense yet struck with the sudden fear that if he acted mentally ill, the doctor before him might admit him to the psychiatric ward. "Uh... I..."

The doctor plucked the toe from his hand and returned it to its drawer, slamming the drawer shut with a frown. "This is medical equipment, not a museum." He glanced at the flowers in his hand. "Or a place of courtship." He grabbed Ronon by the upper arm and escorted him toward the double doors. Ronon nearly tripped over his feet, praying that the nurse he was looking for was nowhere nearby to see him. The intercom voice echoed the name of a paged doctor and the man tugging Ronon along cursed. "That's me." He glanced around and spied Arya exiting from the ladies' room. "Miss Clare? Could you please escort this impertinent young man off hospital premises?"

Arya fought a knowing smile when she recognized the young soldier. "Of course, Dr. Bennett."

Bennett gave her a curt nod then jogged off. Arya raised her brows at Ronon who, once he recognized her, paled. "I knew that you were a troublemaker from the start. You've got it written all over your face, you scoundrel." She folded her arms over her chest.

Ronon looked slightly offended. "I didn't mean to cause trouble, I was just-"

"Stalking my best friend?"

He straightened. "No ma'am, I came here to speak with her. Only she got away before I could think of what to say."

Arya laughed and grabbed his elbow, steering him towards the double doors. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're a poet, I'm sure."

If she was going to be so bossy then he'd could be a shit right back. He adopted his cockiest tone. "No Miss, I'm a soldier in the finest regiment of the Satedan militia."

"Exactly. And she's studying to pass her medical board tests to become a doctor. The last thing she needs is a flyboy like you."

She shoved him backwards through the double doors. He stumbled to keep his footing and bumped into someone behind him. The someone gave a cry of surprise and shoved him away, one of her feet having been squashed. "Do you _mind_?" Her voice had a husky quality that squeaked when she stressed it.

"I'm sorry, I-" he paused when he turned around to see the very nurse he'd tried to follow hobbling before him on one foot. The shock propelled him and he used whatever momentum he had, shoving out the wilted bouquet. "Th-these are for you."

She flicked a stray curl out of her brown eyes and set her foot back on the ground. "You don't have to give me those to apologize."

"They're not to apologize. Here, I want you to have them."

She blinked and leaned back since they were so close to her face. "I don't want them." He lowered his arm, never having plotted this in his possible scenarios in the two weeks since he'd first seen her. "Go ahead and give them to whoever they were meant for." She brushed past his shoulder.

He blinked and moved his lips but no sound came out. Realizing that he was letting her get away again, he spun on his heels and fell into step next to her. "But they were meant for you."

She looked at him askance then slowed as she recognized him. "You're the boy from the waiting room."

He nodded with a lop-sided, hopeful smile that proved so infectious that she couldn't fight back her own.

"And I came back here to see you." He offered her the flowers again and this time she took them with a small amount of wonder in her laughing eyes.

Then her look shifted to one of duty as she let her hand with the flowers fall to her side. "Thank you, really, but I'm sorry. I'm not interested."

His chest froze up and he forgot to breathe. His first instinct was to pretend that he didn't care and to waltz off but he didn't. His voice was quiet. "You're not?"

She arched a brow as she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the fresh blue military tattoo on his throat. "No, I'm not. I don't date soldiers." The crestfallen look in his eye wasn't making this any easier and she continued walking again, hoping he'd stay where he was. But he tailed after her.

His voice betrayed his struggle for words. "Well, why not?"

She kept her gaze ahead. "Because they're trouble, that's why."

"Trouble? I'm no trouble."

She let out a small laugh. "Oh please, Soldier. You're still a boy." Her tone painted the comment as an observation on their age differences rather than a belittling remark.

"My name's Ronon."

She raised her eyebrows at him as she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Fine, Ronon. You're still a boy and by this time next month I'll be a doctor."

"Well, maybe my rank will be higher next month, too."

She sighed as she paused and turned about to face him. "This isn't about rank, Ronon. I could never get along with a soldier."

He caught up and halted in front of her. "Why not?"

"Because soldiers break people, and I fix people."

He couldn't follow her logic. "The only breaking we're going to be doing is the Wraith."

She placed her free hand on her hip. "Fine then – because your part of a wild bunch and I'm an intellect."

Ronon grinned at her changed answer, knowing that her squirming meant that she wasn't as sure as she tried to seem. "Alright then. Ask me any intellectual question and I'll see if I can answer it."

Her lips parted in surprise and she looked away in disbelief. "You're really desperate, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm just trying to get to know you."

She closed her mouth and cocked her head at him. "Alright then Mr. Smarty Pants. What's the difference between wild wheat and domesticated wheat when ripe?"

His grin grew, knowing he was about to wipe that smug smile off her face. "Wild wheat falls to the ground and domesticated wheat stays on the stalks."  
Her smile faded.

"Besides, that's not intellectual. Every farmer's son knows that."

She glanced away and tried to sound disinterested. "You're a farmer?"

"Sort of. I grew up in the farmlands but my family was never very good at it. I spent more time chasing chickens than plowing."

She allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "I'm from the farmlands, too. But I moved here to study on a scholarship quite a while back, when I was about your age. My family held onto the farm until my father died. Now it's sold into a lot of pieces."

"...I'm sorry. That's a sad story."

She plastered on a fake smile again. "Story of my life, Soldier."

"Ronon," he corrected.  
"Ronon. If you'll excuse me and please accept my declination I'd be much obliged."

He laughed a little. "I can't do that."

She arched a brow. "And why not?"

"Because this is my day of leave, and I came here to see you."

"Well you've seen me, now you can go." She turned around and started through a door.

"Wait." He followed her. "Our dads were farmers, doesn't that make us enough alike?"

"No." She continued down the warm hallway that smelled of various flowery scents.

"At least common enough ground to see me again?"

She sighed. "I don't date soldiers, Ronon."

His voice was playfully cocky once more. "But I'm not a soldier, I'm a farmer, remember?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his persistence and walked through the open archway into the women's locker rooms. A fellow nurse in nothing but a towel with soaking wet hair screeched when she saw him and began beating him with her trousers. "Out! Out! Get OUT!"

Ronon shielded himself from the flurry of pant legs beating against him as several other women took up the chorus, marching towards him to add their clothing to the beating. "Can I at least know your name?"

She laughed as three women reinforced the towel-clad nurse, beating him with their clothes. "Melena."

She thought she caught a smile through the flying cloth. "Melena? I get leave in another six weeks, Melena. And you can bet I'll be right here waiting for you."

"You'll be dead if you dare come in here again!" threatened the woman in the towel, shoving him towards the entranceway. He caught sight of Melena shaking her head in disbelief and grinned at her as he backed away from the women who gave up their beatings as he retreated. "I look forward to seeing you, too!"

"OUT!"

He disappeared around the corner and as he retraced their steps down the hallway to leave, he heard one of Melena's co-workers refer to him as handsome. He almost skipped out the door.

* * *

Teyla returned with the glass of water, moisture sticking to its side. She greeted him with a smile. "Dr. Beckett says you are only allowed half a glass more, I am afraid." She resumed her seat next to his bed. "Just for the time being."

He nodded a little and she cocked her head. "How do you feel?"

He took a moment before he answered then croaked out, "Lost."

She looked away and set down the cup after he declined a drink from it. "I am sure it is only natural to feel such emotions after-"

"It's alright, Teyla."

A thin line formed between her brows at his quiet interruption. Her heart sank as she watched him study IV bag to his side, watching the clear liquid drip. "...Do you wish to be alone?"

He didn't know what he wanted. Half of him wanted to curl up and cry over the carved out portion of his soul that Melena once filled, but the other half wanted to feel Teyla's arms around him in a comforting embrace. He looked to her and slowly shook his head.

She smiled at him and placed her hand on his again, her fingers warm and soothing. He swallowed before speaking again. "How long have you been here?"

Her expression was suddenly self-conscious as she glanced to the clock. "I am uncertain."

He studied her face and noticed that she looked tired. He cocked his head, trying to recall any other moments of wakefulness that he may have had with her at his side on the return from Sateda.

"Do you remember waking on the _Daedalus_?"

He reflected for a moment then shook his head again.

She couldn't help but think that that was just as well, knowing that he'd have hated for his teammates to see him in such pain. Instead of reminding him what had happened, she forced a smile and cheer into her voice. "John and Rodney were also there. We've all been very worried about you."

The gravity of the fact that they had all risked their lives to save him began to creep into his consciousness once more and guilt snaked through the workings of his mind. "...I'm sorry."

She was taken aback. "For what?"

"For what I put all of you through."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "It is not your fault, Ronon." Her voice was taking on the firm assurance that it had had when she was attempting to convince him to remove the knife from his throat while they were imprisoned together. She'd told him that it wasn't his fault then, too. He hadn't believed her then, and the way his eyes had drifted away from hers and his brows had twitched together, he didn't believe her now. She lifted his hand in hers and leaned forward, her vice stern. "Ronon? Look at me." He hesitantly met her gaze. She spoke slowly. "It is _not_ your fault."

He heard Melena's screams as she was killed by a blast. Old guilt over his failing to save her engulfed him. The fear of Teyla and Sheppard being punished for whatever crimes he had committed lingered in his mind. "..._not_ your fault." Her words fought through his warring emotions.

Teyla clenched her jaw as she watched his eyes cloud over with doubt, guilt and self-loathing. She gently pressed a hand to his cheek, forcing his eyes to clear from her uncharacteristic nearness. She waited until she was sure he was listening to her again. "You have to let it go, Ronon."

He took a deep breath, his throat swelling with unshed tears of pleading forgiveness and the desire of relief.

She could both see and feel his facial muscles tense with a torment within and her own tired eyes start to sting. Her voice became intimately quiet. "Let it go."

He squeezed his eyes shut with a silent sob as her words washed over him, his eyes quickly filling with tears. He blinked and they trailed down each cheek, one pooling where her hand met his flesh. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

She felt her throat wrench at the unwarranted apology. A crocodile tear slid down her cheek as she removed her hand from his face, unable to sit by and watch him in pain any longer. She carefully climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him. She tentatively reached a hand to rub his shoulder, whispering, "It's alright, Ronon."

He leaned forward with another half-repressed sob. She lifted her chin so he could rest his forehead against her collarbone, slipping one arm under his neck to tangle with his hair and resting her other on his shoulder blade, too far from his wound to cause any pain. She rubbed his side as her own tears fell. He hugged her back, his hand tightly clenching her clothing, as if terrified to let go. "There is nothing to be sorry for, Ronon." Her voice was choked by tears and she kissed the crown of his forehead. "You've been hurt, and it's not your fault. You don't deserve any of this pain."

She felt his muscles shudder slightly beneath her touch as he finally gave in and allowed himself to fully cry. Her small frame shook with her own tears, fed by too many hours awake and worried, and by the pain she felt for what he'd been through, and would have to live with. A few tears still escaped her even after he slipped into an exhausted sleep, his grip on her only loosening ever so slightly.

**_Please review! _**


	6. VI Farm Boy

_Author's note:_ Thank you kindly for reading, and even more for reviewing! Three more chapters left!

And since a few of you have mentioned Sheppard's comments about wanting to buy Canada, I feel that I must confess that every word he spews there has come out of my mouth before, lol.

**VI. Farm Boy**

He never thought he could fall in love so fast yet at the same time he'd known he'd fall in love with her from the moment he finally earned her name. The days of training when he was kept away from her were agonizingly long and he lived for his brief leave-takings when he could be with her again.

When he returned to the hospital six weeks after he learned her name she bit her lip and pretended that she didn't know who he was since the only name he knew her by was "Melena" and she was now known by her title of "Dr. Dawson." He happily waited for her shift to end then took her out for the gourmet meal he'd been promising ever since he arrived at the hospital that morning. She laughed when he took her to an ice cream parlor.

Despite her assertions that she'd never date a soldier, when he came to her apartment to say goodbye on his second day of leave, she told him that it would be lovely to hear from him in the meantime and gave him her address. He couldn't stop smiling and after she bid him goodnight and closed the door she started to unpin her curls. But she couldn't get his boyish looks out of her head.

She flung open the door and ran down the hall in search of him, her hair only half free. She found him all the way in the lobby, just passing through the doors to exit the building. She squeaked his name but he didn't hear, closing the door behind him. She glanced down at her unshod feet then chased after him, flinging the door open, her naked feet plopping on the wet pavement as she ran through the rain a few steps, searching for him. A small crowd of denizens strolled past in the early evening light and she began to feel a fool as she rose on her tippy toes and wiped stray hair from her eyes, looking for him. He barely had a head start, how could he have disappeared already?

She plopped back down onto the heels of her feet, her cheeks coloring when she noticed the passerby eyeing her in her wet dress, bare feet and half-done hair. Turning to retreat back inside she bumped into someone's chest and gasped in pleasant shock when a grinning Ronon playfully pinched her sides. Her gasp morphed into a laugh as she flung her arms around his waist in a hug then yanked back to slap his shoulder. "You incorrigible little brat!"

"It takes one to know one," he chuckled.

"Are you calling me a brat?" She tried to glare but couldn't stop smiling.

He was biting the tip of his tongue and a few stray curls of his loose hair fell forward. He'd let if grow since she first met him six weeks earlier. "Yes, ma'am."

She smiled like an idiot at him and didn't realize how wet she was until she caught a woman and her husband laughing as they passed her with a, "dear, you're soaked to the bone."

Ronon seemed to notice her state then, too, and ran a warm hand down her bare arm, making her flesh tingle. "You better get inside – you need to save lives tomorrow."

He'd looked between the apartment building and her, but her eyes had never left his. "Six weeks is too long, Ronon."

"I'll write every day." His dancing eyes were locked with hers again, water drops winding down his face.

She smirked. "You better." Without much forethought, she tugged on a few wet curls until his face was level with hers, cupped his cheeks with her hands and kissed him. He was so surprised that it took him a moment before he kissed her back.

When she pulled away he smirked cockily. "I thought you said you didn't date soldiers."

Her smirk matched his as she tore her eyes from his face to straighten his jacket. "I don't." She looked back up at him and her voice squeaked huskily. "Farm boy."

His grin threatened to split his face and he got rid of it by kissing her again. It wasn't until she'd finally scampered back inside that he realized he was still in the middle of a busy walkway, surrounded by passerby, in the poring rain.

* * *

Dr. Beckett had promised not to shoo Teyla off to bed, but given the late hour, he felt he should at least offer her the suggestion once more. He quietly headed over and peeked around the corner, blinking in surprise at what he found. Teyla had joined his patient on the bed, both apparently having fallen asleep in an embrace. He bit his lower lip as he smiled, the scene speaking of more healing than he could have ever administered on his own. He folded his arms over his chest with a sigh, watching the two in sleep for a few minutes, his heart swelling. If only life were always this beautiful.

* * *

The sun haloed her hair in glittering gold as she closed her eyes with a smile, deeply breathing in the scent of the wheat field around them. "I never knew it would be so pleasant to smell the end of summer again." 

Ronon remained where he'd randomly lain down in the field, a hand resting on her back, watching with wonder how the light of the setting sun colored Melena's hair. A few curls tossed playfully in the breeze as the field sighed in the gust. She rested her chin on her knees with a contented sigh, her arms hugging her legs as watched the sun begin to kiss the Western horizon.

Ronon still felt full from the large dinner his family had served he and Melena a half hour before. His family had taken to her right away, inquiring with genuine interest about all aspects of her life. His little sister had even playfully asked if she and Ronon were going to get married, justifying her question by stating that she liked Melena and wanted her around more. Ronon's chest had swelled with pride and bliss. The way his mother doted upon Melena made it seem as if she were no stranger at all, but rather a missing piece of their home that had finally found its way back to them.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Ro." She gazed at him over her shoulder. "Not just to meet your family but..." She fingered a stalk of sun-dried wheat. "...For bringing me home. I'd gotten so caught up in the momentum of the hospital and the pace of things in the city that I hadn't realized how much I missed the songs of the blackbirds and the crazy old dogs yapping in the distance."

Ronon grinned. "It's just not a home without a crazy old dog."

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm being serious, Ro."

His face took on an expression of innocence. "So am I. I love dogs. Especially crazy old ones."

She playfully thumped at his chest but he caught her hand and began to lazily play with her fingers, successfully wiping all notions out of her mind other than the gentle, teasing fire of his touch. Though it had been nearly six months since she had first kissed him in the rain, their respective roles in life meant that their opportunities to see each other were few and far between. They wrote everyday but Ronon's leave was never long enough. Not by a long shot.

She shifted her gaze from his fingers to his eyes. When his green met hers, both knew that the other wished they could remain together like this forever.

As the wind shifted, they could hear his mother's voice calling to his little sister in the distance. Melena glanced over but couldn't see his house since she and Ronon were so low in the field. She started to hum, her voice blending with the hissing of the wheat surrounding them. Her humming grew stronger as she closed her eyes pleasantly, feeling the brush of Ronon's fingertips on her neck as he gathered a coil of her hair, his fingers wandering through her tresses.

She grinned as she shifted her hum to the tune of a popular song that both she and Ronon had listened to on the radio. They'd been chasing each other about in a pillow fight in her apartment and the lyrics had been enough to make them pause, which was saying something. Ronon laughed when he recognized the tune, and she sang the opening verse through her grin.

"You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Among the fields of barley

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky

When we walked in fields of gold."

Her voice was pleasant, though hardly trained, yet to Ronon it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

"So she took her love for to gaze a while

Among the fields of barley..."

Ronon knew the next line and tugged on her waist. She nestled down beside him as she sang, her cool hair soothingly tickling his skin.

"In his arms she fell as her hair came down

Among the fields of gold."

He quietly wove his voice with hers for the next couplet, yet let it dwindle, too distracted by her hand resting above his heart to remember the rest of the words.

"Will you stay with me, will you be my love

Among the fields of barley?

And you can tell the sun in his jealous sky

When we walked in fields of gold.

"I never made promises lightly

And there have been some that I've broken

But I swear in the days still left

We will walk in fields of gold

We'll walk in fields of gold..." She trailed off as she felt his lips on her throat. She tangled a hand with his curls, knowing that they'd soon be replaced by knotted locks as a symbol of his status as a Specialist. "Ronon?"

"Hmmm?"

He'd stopped kissing her so she scooted back enough to look at him, a hand resting on his cheek with a fond smile. "Will you marry me?"

For the space of a heartbeat, he forgot who and what he was. Then suddenly the vacuum was filled with every memory of her; every laugh, every touch, and every smile. Her initial coyness flooded his rationality and he was afraid to hope, even though the look in her eye now told him that this would never be a game. "...You mean it?"

A corner of her mouth quirked in nervous amusement. "Of course I mean it."

He laughed breathlessly, so overwhelmed by affection, joy and forever that he couldn't speak. Just as her smile began to fade with timid doubt he impulsively slipped a hand to her hip and kissed her on the lips through his laughter, rolling on top of her.

She gasped at the sudden wave of affection for her and laughed, kissing him back for a moment before interrupting by pressing on his chest. "...Is that a yes?"

He couldn't stop smiling. "It's a forever."

Her entire body seemed to shimmer with glee as she flung her arms around his neck as he sat up. "I love you so much, farm boy."

He kissed her again. Dried wheat leaves stuck comically out of both of their hair. "I love you too, Dr. Dawson."

She sat in his lap, wrapped up in each other as they watched the sun set. They were interrupted, however, when they heard the sound of a tractor on its way home for the night and Ronon tugged on her hand. "We better get, Lena."

She was too comfortable with her back against his chest to move. "How come?"

"...Because this is actually a neighbor's field and he's about to pass by here."

She immediately stood and yanked him to his feet, trying hard to look disapproving of such behavior.

He only shrugged as he finished dusting himself off then picked some leaves out of her hair. "We're bad farmers, remember? We haven't had a field in years."

Ronon was able to use his military training to sneak them onto the dirt road and back to his family's house without being seen. Shortly after, he and Melena announced their engagement to the family. Ronon's mother gasped, dropped and shattered a glass, then bustled forth to hug them both at once.

* * *

Ronon awoke during the night yet began to drift, comfortably cozy with his forehead snuggled against the warmth of Teyla's throat. Her arm around his neck made him ache yet was more comfortable than a pillow. She shifted and her hand lightly tugged on his hair, making him crack his eyes open, even if he were too close to see anything. She made a soft sound in her sleep, making him smile a little. He closed his eyes again but the cramp in his neck continued to prick at the back of his mind, preventing sleep. He debated shifting his weight, but his thoughts drifted like smoke, allowing him to begin to fall asleep again until a twinge from his neck reminded him that he was still awake. 

With a small sigh, he lifted his chin, trying to shift. When that didn't work he pivoted the shoulder he was laying on, finding a comfortable position. But as soon as he stilled again, Teyla squirmed, shifting her arms and brushing against the bandage on his back, wakening the wound. He gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to pass, its burning tendrils making his groggy mind more aware. He tried not to clench the back of Teyla's shirt too tightly as he waited out the pain.

_**Please review! **_


	7. VII Raped of Life

_Author's note:_ Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you like this chapter! May you all be well :o)

**VII. Raped of Life**

The house was small and opened to the street so that the noises of passerby and vehicles often kept them awake at night. But it was theirs. Ronon had spent nearly all he had on a down payment and Melena's salary had contributed to the rest of the mortgage each month. They moved in soon after they were wed, agreeing that this house was only a necessary yet temporary step to fulfilling their dream of buying a home in the farmlands where she could work as a local physician. But for a temporary step, it was beginning to look too permanent. With the settling into their mundane routines came the settling in of the press of everyday life. Gone were the playful, stolen moments. A bitterness began to seep in between them – a bitterness that, though it stemmed from the dissatisfactions of their lives, they aimed at each other.

Word of cullings on increasingly closer planets had dimmed the spirits of all Ronon met in those last months leading up to the attack. He had proven himself a more than capable soldier and his Task Master, Kell, had offered him a position that paid considerably more than the one he held previously. Ronon had taken the job without hesitation. He'd come home that night with excitement, their home in the farmlands seeming a little closer. He'd thought Melena would be happy with the news, but she didn't even smile. A bad day at the hospital combined with the dismal opinions being broadcast on the radio had already putt her in a pessimistic state of mind.

"And you just accepted?"

"Well... yeah... it's good money, Melena."

"It would have been nice if you'd at least _talked_ to me about it first."

"What was there to talk about? He offered me a job with a better salary and I took it."

Melena shook her head in disbelief. "Ronon – we hardly see each other as it is with our schedules. I thought we agreed to try to make _more_ room for each other, not less. This means I'll be lucky if you're home at night."

"Kell offered-"

"Kell? _Kell_ offered you the job? That makes it worse – he's just trying to buy your loyalty."

He sat down at the table, trying to remain calm in the face of her annoyance, speaking slowly to remain composed. "It's only for a little while, and we need the money-"

"A 'little while'? Ro – we might not _have_ a little while!"

He stuck his fingers in his knotted hair, the headache he'd been fighting all afternoon returning. "What are you talking about, Lena?"

"I mean we could be _dead_ tomorrow for all we know! The Wraith are-"

"Not here," he finished for her.

She blinked at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I just hate it when you start all of this talk about the Wraith. If they come we'll fight."

"I know that. And we've got a better chance of surviving a culling than any other world I know of."

He held out his hands in a pleading gesture. "...Then why are you bringing this up?"

Her face flushed and she grabbed her jacket, muttering the whole time about being so stupid as to marry a man younger than her, and on top of that, a soldier. She barked out that she was going for a walk and slammed the door behind her. At that moment he hated the husky squeak in her voice.

He rose from his chair to follow her but the memory of his mother's voice cautioning him on his impulse control problem stilled him. Melena left because she wanted to be alone, so why should he follow?

His mother had sat him down before he got married and let him know that he had to learn to make lasting decisions. She'd laughed as she relived all of his near-death experiences in his impulsive boyhood. She'd cautioned him that marriage wasn't something one could impulsively leap into and get away with. He'd reassured her and, at the time, believed every word of his convictions. But at times like these when he and Melena seemed to be operating on different frequencies, he worried over the truth of his mother's words. He and Melena had only dated for ten months, never having spent more than five consecutive days together until they were married. Had they rushed into things?

Melena was mad at him. He knew she was mad because he'd accepted a better job with better pay without consulting her, though he couldn't understand the logic. It was his life, after all, wasn't it? She was also mad because he'd now work longer hours. But longer hours meant more money which meant that their life in the farmlands was that much closer. He knew they were tense at the moment, but underneath all of the tension was worry over one another and their futures. Strain that emanated from love couldn't be a real problem. It had to be just a phase that would vanish once they reached their goal and each was free to carve out their own niche together. Why couldn't she see what a sacrifice now would mean for them in the long run?

He didn't like to think about it for very long because then he'd be faced with the anxious truth of the matter: he and Melena's dynamic had shifted. She was right; they felt the stress of their tight schedules and duties as it was already and his acceptance of this new position would make that even harder. But it was just temporary, a necessary evil to buy them their freedom. Wasn't it?

Freedom. He'd tried to give her that.

The Wraith came to Sateda sooner than anyone expected. His people had readied since the last culling two centuries ago, feeding their machine of war. He'd been ready to fight, ready to use some of the skills he had honed for so long. Ready to teach the Wraith a thing or two about whom they victimized. He used to say such things to Melena, teasingly utilizing flyboy charm. But when it really began to happen, when the Wraith really arrived and he witnessed the futility of the Satedan resistance, his illusions were incinerated.

Panic had coursed through him, rendering any of their recent troubles moot, the love that always fed the worry surging forward in his breast. All he could think of was finding some way for them to keep going, to get a second chance.

As a child his tenacity had driven his mother insane. As hard as she tried to keep him in line, he always wiggled his way out. Once he even knocked on the door to distract her while he snuck into the kitchen to steal a spoonful of cookie dough from the batch she was making. He had a strong will and believed that if you wanted something bad enough and were willing to fight for it, you'd get it. He'd used that philosophy from everything from fishing to the woman he married. And right now had to believe in himself and his power over his own fate, or else there was nothing left to do but despair and bemoan the end of a life not yet lived.

When the Wraith arrived, the first thing he had to do was get Melena as far from danger as possible, then he'd work out how he'd save his own butt.

Kell had told him that, for a price, he'd be willing to claim any personages as his staff, giving them a free ticket off the planet with him. When he'd said it, Ronon knew that he'd meant for Ronon to buy a place for himself. Ronon had written off the apparent insinuations of this offer with the fact that Kell was no longer a solider. He understood that the man's priorities had shifted to his family, just as Ronon's had shifted to Melena. She was the first person he thought of as the offer left Kell's lips, and he immediately began to work out how he could make enough money to secure her a place on Kell's ship.

He would stay behind and fight as long as he could while finding some way to escape. He couldn't leave his comrades behind. He couldn't leave good people like his family defenseless. There had to be a way out of this – there always was. When his mother had started to set the cookie dough bowl on the shelf where he couldn't reach, he'd climbed up the counter, using the cupboard handles as steps. There was always a way out.

He sold everything they had and bought Melena her freedom then watched as she threw it back in his face. She refused to go, feeling the same duty he did to aid those he could, and though he didn't like it, he could understand it. But her remaining on Sateda wasn't part of his plan. Why couldn't she just go? What was the point of staying on to help the wounded when everyone was going to die? Then again, what the point of him staying behind to fight the Wraith when he knew they'd be quickly overpowered?

She knew that his efforts to save her were an attempt to run, to get away from the coils of their society, just as his dream of living together in the farmlands free of the demands of others. But there came a time when you had to face reality. And stubborn as Ronon was, she had to make him see. She had to awaken roots in him, for she could see that his flighty tendencies were a source of much of their disquiet. He saw life as fluid, whereas she saw it as grounded. He always had to feel that they could escape. If he didn't like his position in the military then he'd work harder and rise in the ranks to a better station. If they didn't like their life in the city then they'd persevere only until they could escape to the country. If they didn't like being culled by the Wraith then they could find some way off the planet. He was always hoping, groping, assured in their power over their lives.

But there wasn't always an escape, and she needed security. His youthful flights of fancy and confidence that they could always just run off and start over again somewhere else struck her as naive and ignorant. She knew that when push came to shove he'd realize that his duties lay more heavily upon him than he thought, and that he'd fall back onto them. Even in his ideal life in the farmlands one was a slave to the seasons – as a farmer he would be shackled to the very land he found so freeing. She'd grown up with her hands in the dirt; he'd grown up planting vegetables in the hopes to show them off at a fair. She'd learned long ago that nature, like life, had its own will and would not gladly suffer those who were not willing to dig their heels in and work.

A large part of what had drawn her to Ronon was the fresh air about him. He was not like her and his impulsive whims and charm provided her with an escape from the labor of existing in her world. But when he was no longer an escape and they tried to compromise to make a home together, he didn't grow up as quickly as she'd hoped. She'd been trying to deal with the fact that the man she married was still vulnerably boyish and had yet to earn the jaded eyes through which she viewed life. She worried over the pain he would face when his innocent eyes were confronted with cruelty. But she couldn't protect him from that. That pain was a part of maturing and she knew he had to find his own two feet. It wasn't that she ever wanted him to stop dreaming, but rather that she wanted him to start living with her in a life where he needed no escapism.

She had to make him see that this world around him was life, and that there was no running away from their reality to hide in a wheat field. His volatile, somber behavior of late told her that he knew this, yet fought hard not to believe it.

The grim anxiety in his eyes as he pleaded with her to leave and his frustrated outburst over the futility of her decision to stay behind betrayed his fear over their lack of control of their lives and his need to confront destiny.

"There's not going to be any need for hospitals, Melena!" He gestured to the radio as it continued to broadcast the Chieftain's speech of Satedan can-do spirit. "That's just a bunch of words meant to make the people who don't get to leave think there's a chance for them."

She knew he was right, but couldn't escape her decision, knowing that if she left now she'd spend the rest of her life in guilt over the many she could have helped. There was a time when she'd looked forward to helping shape him into the man he was becoming – to accompanying him on his journey as he grew up. Yet at this moment she cursed any past impatience she had with his rate of maturity, for the look in his eyes told her that he was suddenly growing up excruciatingly fast.

He swallowed, trying hard to contain his fear, his voice dropping with quivering tones of urgency. "We shot down two ships that came through the 'gate. Two small ships. Do you really think that's all they're gonna send?"

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, shaking her head, hating that they'd been reduced to such desperation. "Of course not."

"Ships as big as our city have attacked other planets. No one that stays here is going to survive." He lowered his gaze, attempting to hide his pain.

She couldn't hold back tears any longer, feeling the full force of their differing personalities and the cracks she saw forming in him. His decision was as hard for her to accept as hers was for him. "Then why are you staying?"

He slowly met her gaze again, his green eyes hesitant. "I have no choice."

It was a lie and they both knew it. He'd made a decision to stay just as much as she had, and he'd made it for the same reason she had: duty. Her voice grew firm as she attempted to make him see what she had from the start – that it was also their duty to accept their reality and try to change it rather than run from it. "Yes you do!"

He ran a hand over his forehead and turned away, trying to hide from the truths of their obligations to the greater good, the truths that she had always seen so well. The action let her know that she was getting through and she crossed the room to him.

"You believe in this fight! You know that they'll eventually find us, no matter where we go. Our only hope is to show them that we're not worth the effort. To go feed on some other planet that won't fight back as hard as we will." He felt himself being lashed to the fate of the planet and tried to brush past her, his faltering faith in their escape leaving him with no sense of direction. She grabbed his arm. "Ronon!"

He locked eyes with her again and the next words she spoke would haunt him.

"You can't run forever."

Their gazes remained locked in a battle of wills that ended when the window light caught on a tear slipping down her cheek and he yanked her to him in a hug. They'd fought enough in the past few weeks to give them both doubts about their marriage as the glow of new love began to wear into something a bit more broken-in. But after each realized that the other was not leaving Sateda, and that these were probably their last hours alive, the little grudges and missteps of their married life lifted away, and they clung to each other in desperate forgiveness. They sat down on the bed and he held her to his chest as she sobbed, a few tears escaping his own eyes as he fought to find another solution, another way out of their situation, unable to acclimate to the finality of reality.

Yet when his squad was ordered to mobilize immediately, his stomach grew cold and he knew that their lives were tumbling out of their hands.

He dressed in his uniform and she in her white medical dress, symbols of their obligations to their people. They held each other for a long moment, unwilling to believe that this was really goodbye. Ronon kissed her on the lips then on her right temple, whispering, "I promised you forever. I'll come back for you."

She closed her eyes and nodded; his warm breath on her cheek a painful reminder of the risks they ran. Reluctantly releasing the locks of his hair that she clung to, she stepped back into the doorway and let him go.

Hours passed and rumors spread of the slaughter of the Satedan militia, feeding the lament and panic in the air. Ronon made his way to the hospital with a shattered innocence, heart bleeding from the massacre he'd witnessed, and yet attempting to cling to whatever reserves of fortitude remained and fight again. Kell had betrayed thousands to their deaths so that he may live. Melena was right – Kell was a criminal. He should have listened to her all along, but it was too late for that.

The senseless killing that clung to him and the appalling corruption of his trust left him jaded and determined. He had done his part. He had tried to hold the Wraith back and he had watched his best friend die – had felt the warmth of his blood stain his hands. He owed nothing more to a system that had left him wounded and violated. He felt no guilt in escaping this hell for the only allegiance he now owed was to Melena. He had to find her and run. They had to leave this festering hole of humanity aflame.

He searched the corridors of the hospital, desperation in his voice as he called for her. Her unbelieving face as she saw him tore his heart. She ran to him and for a moment, in her arms once more, all of the tear stains of betrayal lifted from his heart, and he felt the light of hope once more. They could do this – they could win against the Wraith by surviving. He reached out for her and took her hand, sure that she felt the press of doom as much as he and that she would not hesitate in leaving with him this time. But sometimes, no matter how much love binds, no matter the desperation, the fear of the unknown tomorrow and the nearness of today make for warring resolves. She would not leave.

She couldn't explain the need she felt among those she was treating so she pointed to an orphaned girl as an example of the people who needed her to stay. He held the child in his arms, pleading that relieving the one citation of her hesitance would be enough to sway her, but she still shook her head. "I can't."

The finality of her tear-filled eyes grounded him to where he stood. The limp girl in his arms separated two who once shared one dream. His throat burned. He couldn't accept her choice. Not now, not when they still had a chance. There was always a way out. Always.

But the wounded around him weighted her down, and she could no longer fly with him like the blackbirds they watched swoop over the golden fields. Because the wounded needed her. _But I need you, too_. "Melena..." he started to brokenly argue back that he needed her more than these people at death's door, but time seemed to slow as he caught sight of a Wraith weapon spiraling towards them. The child in his arms froze him so he breathed deep in a scream for Melena move, but was too late. For a sickeningly long moment he watched as his wife was engulfed by the gaseous flame of the explosion until the force of it knocked him over.

The rest was lost beyond recall, for he had had so many nightmares of the scene that he could no longer discern what really happened from the ghoulish laments of his dreams. Melena was dead, and he'd seen her charred hand and smelled her burnt hair and flesh. That was more than enough memory for him. He felt something vital inside rend in the brief glance he cast at her burnt form. He tried to vomit, but not having eaten in at least a day all he managed were a few dry heaves tinged with bile.

The little girl had been helped up by an able bodied patient, but both lost their footing when another wing of the building was hit and the structure shook. An evacuation alarm sounded and was soon competing with the screams of Wraith darts as they scoured the city. In a building they were sitting ducks and the Wraith abducted them immediately. Ronon hardly knew nor cared what was happening as he was placed in a cocoon. His entire being was consumed with the fire that had killed Melena.

He hadn't "lost" anything to the Wraith; what he loved had been taken from him in violent, power-lusting force bent on domination. He had been raped of his life.

When the Wraith attempted to feed from him he met its gaze, a part of him welcoming the pain it would bring as release from the tortures of his bleeding soul, and another part gleefully challenging the face of the previously faceless enemy who had gutted his life and his world. He didn't know why the Wraith stopped feeding on him, but it did. Before they made him into a Runner they took pleasure from torturing him. Yet what they didn't understand was that he was nearly numb from the torture he inflicted upon himself.

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	8. VIII Honor

_Author's note_: Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing! Only the epilogue to go!

**VIII. Honor**

Carson rubbed his eyes as he blearily reached to set his coffee cup down on his desk when a voice from behind startled him with a "Mornin', Doc." His jump of surprise sent his mug onto the floor, shattering the ceramic. Sheppard looked down at the broken, painted pegasus on the spreading pool of coffee and winced. "...Sorry 'bout that. I'll help you clean it up."

The loud noise had made both natives of the galaxy startle into wakefulness, still snuggled close. Teyla looked around, a few wisps of hair clinging to her cheek that had rested to the pillow. She brushed them away with her free hand as she looked down at Ronon who was wincing from the pain his sudden movement had caused. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut.

She gently untangled her arm from under his neck and sat up, still watching him then looking to the entranceway when she heard muted voices. She rested a hand on his tricep, worried over his display of pain, even though it was controlled. "I will go get Dr. Beckett."

"Okay." His quiet, sleepy voice made her fight the urge to turn back and hug him as she climbed off of the bed and headed towards the source of the sound.

She smiled in greeting when she found Carson and Sheppard throwing away paper towels and a broken something.  
"Good morning, Teyla." Sheppard smiled at her.

"Good morning, love." Beckett wiped at something on the bottom of his pant leg.

She inclined her head. "Good morning."

Carson was studying how her hair was lank on one side. "So you finally got some sleep afterall, did you?"

Teyla gave him a small nod. "Yes, I did. However Ronon is awake now and I believe-"

"Oh, yes. Right." Carson brushed past to check on his patient.

Sheppard slipped his hands into his pockets. "So, uh, how's he doin'?"

"I do not know for certain. He is..." she tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Still in pain. However he awoke and spoke to me last night."

"Well, that's good."

There was an awkward silence where Sheppard wanted to ask what Ronon had said, and where Teyla avoided his gaze, not offering any secrets with which Ronon had entrusted her. "I'm just gonna' go tell him hi then get some breakfast. You hungry?"

Her stomach nearly lurched it was so empty. "Yes I am."

She followed Sheppard back to Ronon's bedside and watched as Sheppard patted the Satedan on the shoulder and promised to come back soon. He tugged on Teyla's elbow as he passed. "You comin' to breakfast?"

She looked between the colonel and Beckett who was quietly attempting to convince Ronon that he needed to eat something. "I..." She still felt that she needed to stay.

Sheppard followed her gaze and bit his lip, then nodded. "Okay." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'll bring you something."

She smiled. "You are very kind."

He winked. "It's what I do." He strolled out and Carson followed him to get more coffee after having treated Ronon for the moment.

Teyla walked back over to his bed and smiled at him in greeting as she resumed her familiar seat by his side. He was chewing on the tip of his thumb, studying the IV. She cocked her head as she realized he was avoiding her gaze. "Do you feel better, Ronon?"

He nodded and pulled his thumb away from his mouth.

She reached out and rested her hand on his with a smile and a reassuring squeeze. Her heart dipped when he waited a heartbeat then tugged his hand away from hers. As she processed the simple action a small rift seemed to form in her chest. Her lips parted as she thought to say something, but no words made it past the scared tightening of her throat. She felt her cheeks color and she looked down, her hair curtaining her face.

"Teyla..." Just the tone of his voice made her breath shorten and time seemed to slow. She hadn't admitted just how much she'd begun to hope until she realized how afraid she was of what he was about to say. "...I can't." When he offered no more her eyes slowly found his.

His expression was pained, his light green eyes apologetic. She bit the inside of her lower lip and curled her fingers in towards her palm, her hand recoiling to her lap.

He'd pivoted his shoulders to better look at her without lying on his stitches. "I..." His eyes searched her face for the span of a few breaths, his struggle for expression apparent. "I'm broken."

She shook her head, the tears that stung her eyes surprising her. "You are not, Ronon-"

"Yes I am, Teyla." He swallowed. He'd changed so much from who he was in his life on Sateda that he often wondered if he possessed the same body. It terrified him to think that Melena would detest who he was today. "I'm too scarred."

"You are strong, Ronon. All wounds heal in time."

"She died in front of me."

Teyla blinked in surprise, cocking her head a little. "Who did?"

He found the acknowledgement incredibly hard to voice. "Melena... my wife."

Teyla leaned back a little as shock coursed through her. She'd never read the signs to anticipate this and was fighting to remain composed. "I am... so very sorry. I did not even know that you were married."

He glanced away from her, studying the siding of the bed. "We got married pretty young. Well, I was young. We wanted to live in a house in the farmlands..." He started to stop himself, not understanding his need to tell her all of this when he hadn't even found the strength to say Melena's name in so long. "But then the Wraith attacked and... she died."

Teyla bit the inside of her cheek, still struggling through her shock to find an appropriate response that would not further display what her hopes had been for them. "That is terrible."

"...She was a doctor... I bought her passage off the planet on Kell's ship," he looked to her then, knowing that this part of the story had some relevance to her. "But she wouldn't go. She wanted to stay behind to help with the wounded. I was staying, too, so I thought that there was still some hope that we could escape. But she wouldn't leave... she died in a blast."

"...I cannot imagine the horror."

He took a deep breath, his eyes cast down to hide his tumultuous feelings. Teyla glanced away, trying to absorb the ramifications of what he'd just told her.

"...It all happened so fast..." She looked back to him and found that his brow was furrowed. She braced herself for the details of the scarring event yet was surprised by his next words. "I'd known her for six months when she asked me to marry her. We were wed that autumn..." He smiled wistfully, his eyes distant. "She wore a wreath of harvest leaves in her hair."

Teyla smiled, wiping at a tear that she barely registered.

He let a small, bitter laugh escape. "Everything suddenly got complicated once we moved into the city. We started to argue... I think we'd thought that we could change each other. But she was a doctor and she was older than me, and I was a soldier, so we didn't always think the same way... At least I saw her once more before she died. ...Maybe she didn't feel any pain."

Teyla nodded in agreement, her heart breaking at how hopeful his voice was. "You must miss her very much."

He let out a shuddering sigh and she could see the light shimmering off of his eyes, betraying unshed tears. He resisted for a heartbeat then nodded solemnly, a tear snaking down his cheek. His voice was edged with mounting sorrow. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately. She was killed in the hospital you found me in on Sateda."

Her lips parted as she realized how much more painful his recent experience on his homeworld must have been. She tried to wrap her mind around the fact that she had recently set foot in the fabric of his past.

"I still miss her..." He wiped the tear away with the back of his hand. "But I had seven years of Running, alone, to try and make sense of it all. And I'm ashamed that if she could see me now, she wouldn't know me. She'd probably hate me."

Teyla set her jaw at that and grabbed his hand whether he liked it or not, prompting him to lock eyes with her again. "She would not hate you, Ronon. You've done what you have had to do to survive. Sometimes survival means we have to change who we are." She paused to emphasize her next point yet again. "It is _not_ your fault." She held his hand more tightly as he searched her eyes, a child within them pleading for her to sing him the truth so that he may cling to it. She smiled. "And she would be proud of you, as I am proud of you, for the honor by which you live."

She knew she'd struck a note when he continued to search her eyes, his own reflecting self-doubt and humility before he lowered his gaze. He swallowed then he looked back up to her, his vision clearer yet his timid expression and near-trembling lip betraying his self-consciousness. She could barely hear his whispered "thank you." She smiled and squeezed his hand and squeezed hers.

Then his gaze turned guilty and shyly slid from hers. His voice was still a whisper. "...But I promised her forever." He released her hand again. His ashamed frame breathed of his torn spirit and he looked back to her with apologetic hesitance.

She knew full well what he was trying to tell her. A part of him was still in love with his wife and his guilt over her death haunted him. He had not accepted death as a sundering force in his vow to Melena which spoke of the fortitude of his loyalty. But what he was not saying, what he probably barely admitted to himself, was that he was terrified.

From what he'd told her, even before the Wraith came there was trouble in his marriage. Maybe things would have worked themselves out. By the fact that Ronon still remained bonded in heart to Melena all these years later told her that he would have tried to make it work. Not only was he afraid of the dangers of loving and losing again, but he was afraid of the dangers of falling out of love. Of being burned and maimed by love. Being a Runner for seven years after Melena's death meant that he had never even had further experiences to teach him more of what could come from relationships and love.

He'd been severely hurt and had learned from his wounds that to love is to expose the vulnerability of one's soul. He adapted to survive, and the best way for him to survive the heart's sorrow was to fiercely guard the part of him still capable of love. He was afraid of getting hurt, and after what he'd been through, she could never fault him that. Not in a thousand years.

She gave his hand another squeeze before letting go, giving him his space. His expression was grateful and his eyes were skittish, hesitant in his shyness in this completely new territory for them. She couldn't deny that her own emotions were caught in a whirlwind over what he'd told her, but she offered him a comforting smile all the same. "I understand."

His eyes latched onto hers and didn't flinch, even as Sheppard and Carson noisily entered, prompting Teyla to glance over at them. When she looked back she saw a flicker of guarded hope in Ronon's eyes before he looked away just before Sheppard rounded the corner to them.

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	9. IX Epilogue: Setting a Blackbird Free

**IX: Epilogue: Setting a Blackbird Free**

_Melena_. Now she knew what Ronon had said in his pained confusion aboard the jumper. The affection in his eyes had been for a lost love, not for her.

She gave Ronon his space after that, remaining by his side as he recovered but only when she felt he needed company. She remained composed, calculating her movements and body language so as to not frighten him with any undue insinuations. But this did not last long, for Ronon recovered quickly and soon they were both on the same terms which had previously governed them.

They healed as a team, and Ronon was so excited to finally be able to head out on a mission again that he didn't catch himself playing with the same pseudo-cocky charm that he had used to tease Melena. He drew his gun and made it fly over his fingers in a whirling dance of youthful lust for life. Teyla couldn't help but smile at his boasting of his recuperation and eagerness to once again contribute to the team that had saved him.

His resilience lifted her spirits. Though he had gently pushed her away, she had not given up on him yet. Part of her optimism stemmed from the recovery that she witnessed. She knew that with time and support like he now had, he could continue to heal. Maybe old wounds would also finally begin to close. But another part of her optimism stemmed from the fact that, try as she might, she couldn't shrug off her affections for him.

He wasn't ready yet, and inexperienced, she didn't know if she was, either. Time lay between them and she was prepared to wait. She would wait for her convictions to solidify and strengthen, and more importantly, she would wait for him.

* * *

When Ronon had been told that he only had a week at the most before he could resume 'gate travel, it felt as if a weight began to lift. He'd no longer be reminded of Sateda through his healing. He'd no longer be the burden weighting the team down. 

His talk with Teyla had loosened the chains of his wings and he no longer felt that they had healed as broken and crippled as he'd once believed. He fought off the guilt that crept through him when he'd think fondly of Teyla with the truth that he knew Melena would have wanted him to remain true to himself.

Even if the Wraith hadn't come and their marriage hadn't worked out, he knew that she would have wanted him to grow into the man she envisioned him capable of being. A man of honor, integrity, and the playful spirit that she so loved. He knew the latter was nearly burned out of him, but Teyla's compliment that she was proud of him and thought him honorable gave him hope that he might yet recover what he'd once thought was lost.

He limped onto his balcony after a visit to the infirmary in which Dr. Beckett had proudly told him that he was healing well and would be fit to travel again soon. The setting sun directly across from him on the horizon caused his eyes to narrow defensively against the light. He closed them and breathed in deeply the sea air as the warmth of the western light soothed over his face and exposed hands. With his eyelids closed, or even cracked, he could see gold.

His heart panged as he remembered the song Melena sang to him when they lazed in his neighbor's field, as if they had forever before them. Her voice in his memory maintained its endearing, spunky husk.

_You'll remember me when the west wind moves_

_Among the fields of barley_

_You can tell the sun in his jealous sky_

_When we walked in fields of gold._

He'd long ago realized the irony of the fact that she never finished singing the last verse of the song that day. The power of hindsight made her omitting of the verse even more poignant.

He opened his eyes and traced his fingers upon the cool cylindrical railing that he leaned upon, humming the tune to himself. A warm breeze blew from behind him, ticklishly tugging on a few of his thinner locks. He could barely hear himself when he began to sing the last verse of the song, but his voice strengthened.

"Many years have passed since those summer days

Among the fields of barley,

See the children run as the sun goes down

As you lie in fields of gold.

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Among the fields of barley

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky

When we walked in fields of gold.

When we walked in fields of gold..." His voice cracked from the pain of his heart and he paused to work out the knots in his throat. The wind cooled tears upon his cheeks and his voice remained intimately quiet. "When we walked in fields of gold."

He let himself choke out tears as he watched the sun set, the seaward wind picking up and whipping his shirt about his statuesque frame leaning against the railings. He knew that a part of him would always love her. But the dormant part of his soul, once shut down out of necessity, was awakening again, and he knew that she would want him to always be as free as his dreams. She'd always loved his roaming thoughts, unconventional ideas, and flights of fancy. She had fostered the dreamer in him.

He would walk now, tall with all she had taught him, and all he had learned about himself from her, armed with what they had once shared, brief and charming as it was. She was all he'd known and he could never let her go. But he could honor her by living as the man she'd seen within the boy she'd known.

"I'll always love you, Melena." His words were almost lost to the sea breeze. The sun was now but a glimmering pinprick above the field-like sea. He placed one hand over the other above his heart. "I carry you with me always." He extended his cupped hands towards the last of the sun, as if setting a blackbird free.

* * *

"You could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and for the damage done therein. For the dead, and for your own lost self. ... You can grieve your heart out and in the end you are still where you were. All your grief hasn't changed a thing. What you have lost will not be returned to you. It will always be lost. You're left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on or not. But if you go on, it's knowing you carry your scars with you." – Charles Frazier, _Cold Mountain_ (p. 420-421).

* * *

_Author's note_: There you have it - I hope you all enjoyed it! Again **_thank you all_** for taking the time to read, and even more for reviewing! A large part of writing this was my trying to understand Melena. When I first saw "Sateda" I thought she was the stupidest person on the planet since she didn't seem to get that Wraith human annihilation, lol. So it was somewhat therapeutic for me to try and fashion her as someone understandable, which I hope I did. 

The way this story has ended seems like closure, but also a set up for a new beginning. I've been toying with writing a sequel. Should I, or should I just leave it as it is?

Again, thank you all for reading! _May much love, laughter and light be bestowed upon you!_


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